Translator #2

When not swimming with polar bears or sleeping in an igloo, likes to stare at incomprehensible moon runes believing them to be messages from the ancestors. Until the caribou meat runs out. Was promoted to Deputy? Arbiter by a wandering Sheeprabbit on a hunt one day and brought to a place named after some person called Chan, Onii.

Translator #3

Translator #4

Hey everyone, I'm Kou-san and I translate stuff.
I hopped on board because my social life was dying and I needed something to keep me from descending into darker chuuni pits. Now, back to learning how to run on water...

Translator #8

Hello, Kudarajin de~su! I'm just a student passing by, translating stuff! Started this since there was a series I really liked that I wanted to share with everyone. I'm trying to share the joy I feel when I read web novels with more people around the world! Now that my self-introduction is over, back to my glorious plan to turn everyone in the world into bookworms...

Translator #9

Graphical Editor #1

Graphical Editor #2

It was a dark and stormy night...the little slug, abandoned by all of it's friends, moved onwards. It undertook a hard and unwelcome journey. The ground was slippery cobblestone, all sunny-gleam and glass-sharp marble gluing the jagged edges together to resemble something beautiful. Walking upon the path would have hurt the slug, considering all the jagged pebbles knocked aside to and fro that it had to crawl over, if not for the water that fell from the sky and aided the slug's way to a place of suitable shells. And on the slug continued on this path, a little nervous but a lot determined, until two long shadows coalesced and stood in its way. "Slug! It's a slimy slug!" one crowed mockingly, laughing cruelly along with other shadows in a discordant symphony as they loomed over the slug, dark and threatening. "I'm not a slug!" it said in response, even as it flinched back. "I am a snail, like the rest of the snails. I just have no shell." The shadows did not seem to hear, and they surrounded the slug, holding sticks and tossing it around. "Stop!" the slug cried, but they did not stop. The rain spilled over the slug, until it didn't, and the slug lay helpless on the side of the streets, unmoving. There were many voices, screeching their victory as they walked into the distance, and the slug was bitterly reminded of the insults its siblings had told it. It did not resist as it was kicked harshly by a passing object and thrown into the air, landing on its soft underside so quickly it faded into unconsciousness, prone and helpless to any that wanted to eat it. It sadly thought that, perhaps, its siblings had been right. However, the slug did not die. It came to, after a long, long time, to see a large, patterned rock. "...Hello?" the slug whispered mutely, voice weak and barely audible, not expecting an answer. But surprisingly, the rock moved, revealing a wisened head that craned over to look at the slug. "Hello," it greeted calmly, "What are you? I have not seen any like you before." The slug took a long moment to comprehend its words, and even then, it felt floored. Someone who had not heard of slugs at all? "I...am a snail, who has no shell, seeking a place of suitable shells that will fit me, like the shells in the place of suitable shells near my home that fit my kin." "Is that so?" the other asked. "I cannot understand, for this shell of mine has been mine ever since my birth. I can, however, understand the need for a shell to watch your back and hide you away from the world, if that is why you wish for a shell." "It is," the slug replied. "It must be a joy to you, to have a shell crafted for you for your lifetime." "But I cannot choose another," the other answered, "While you can." It was a long, quiet moment of contemplation before the other spoke again. "Do you think this shell of mine is good?" The slug was startled, but it answered willingly enough. "Yes." "Do you think this shell of mine is strong?" "Yes," the slug answered, this time a lot more slowly, bemused. The other gave a tiny, weak smile. "Do you think this shell of mine is suitable?" The slug did not hesitate. "Yes," it said, and it could not have said anything more profound. "What are you?" the slug finally queried. "I am a turtle." And the turtle smiled wider, kindly. It may have been just a feeling. It may have been just a thought. But the turtle also said these very words: "You are a snail with a shell." And even though the turtle's shell was all lines and edges and angles, and the shells of the snail's brethren were all curls and swirls wrapping itself into rings of promise, the slug was a snail with a shell, and that was all that mattered.